


Finding Father

by Elliot_Dylan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coming of Age, Confusion, Degrassi - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Finding Oneself, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to more, Gossip Girl - Freeform, Growing Up, Happy Ending, High School, Kissing, Misunderstandings, Pining, Reconciliation, Riverdale, Romance, Sadness, True Love, Vacations, bully becomes friend, finding ones place in this world, finding ones true home, finding yourself, girl meets world - Freeform, high school romance, if you like teen dramas, lack of communication at some points, like gilmore girls, looking for love in all the wrong places, realizing what really matters, teen life, tension is used lightly, there is some tension between the main character and her mother, what it means to love, you might like this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22924948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliot_Dylan/pseuds/Elliot_Dylan
Summary: Harper Cross has grown up most of her life thinking that she doesn't have a father. But when she finds out she does she goes on a spiritual journey to find out who he is, but more who she is.





	1. chapter one

I need the help of a napkin to start a conversation with my mother.  
It’s one of those conversation napkins with a question on it. Like “what’s the weirdest thing you’ve heard today?”   
“If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go?”   
That’s the one my mom has.   
I already know the answer to that question: anywhere but here. Or more specifically: Africa.  
When I was younger I didn’t need napkins to talk with my mom. Back then she would braid my hair. Sitting between her knees I had the opportunity to ask her as many questions as I wanted. As many as I could before she grew impatient and told me to shut it.   
It was then she told me about her dream to go to Africa. To return to her roots.   
Mom has always been passionate about returning to who she was before everything changed. Not just for her ancestors but for her personally.  
A life before my father died. Even now I can tell it hurts her to think of what she could have had with him.   
The very first time she told me about him she couldn’t even look at the photo. Her eyes were filled with a sadness deeper then when any of her boyfriends leave.   
How different would things be if he was still with us? I never met him but I imagine with him here our lives would be better. We’d always eat dinner together and I wouldn’t need napkins to talk with mom or dad. He’d take me to take your daughter to work day and all the other kids would be jealous that he wasn’t their dad.   
But instead of a father I have a string of strange men who sit on our living room couch. Like the man sitting at the table now. Mom’s current boyfriend. He has the napkin with the weirdest thing you’ve heard today. He’s the one who bought the napkins. He thinks they are amusing. Mom does not. She got into an argument with him because she thought they were more expensive than regular napkins. They might be. I didn’t hear the end of the argument, probably because it was never resolved. That’s why the table is so quiet now. Not that it’s not usually this quiet.   
This is a rare occasion when we’re all home at the same time. But it’s as silent now as if I was alone.  
It’s not the silence that really bothers me though. Lately my stomach has been hurting. Mom notices I’m not touching my food as she chides me, “You better not waste that. Put it in the fridge. You are eating it at some point.”  
The napkin next to my plate asks, “If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?”  
I know what I’d change about myself. I’d make myself braver so that I didn’t need napkins to talk to my mom. I’d make myself into the kind of person my mother could love.  
Taking a breath to bolster my courage I ask my mom the napkin’s question. She tells me to shut up and eat my food.  
Not even a napkin can help me start a conversation with my mother.


	2. Chapter 2

I learned early on that eventually everything dies.   
Today is my day.  
I’m finally going to meet you, Dad.  
I hope he wants me.  
No one else has.   
But there is no guarantee that there is an afterlife where I can meet him.   
I start to dry heave so that I choke on my sobs.   
This can’t be happening.   
But it is.  
Have I finally done something mom will appreciate?  
She won’t like it if my death drags out for months, or years. That will just make things harder for her. Harder than they already are.   
I am the villain of my mother’s story. I’ve taken something form her, her options, her life, her dreams. I’m not sure. All I know is that someone who takes away a person’s choices or ability to choose is a villain.   
That’s why I know it will be okay with her if I die. Then she’ll finally have options again. But I can’t be sure what kind of death this is. The blood stains on the sheets make me think exsanguination, but it doesn’t look like enough blood.  
My stomach has ached for days. I had just thought it was indigestion. Gas. Not internal bleeding.   
I shouldn’t have ignored the signs. That’s how every story starts where the person ends up not waking up the next morning.   
“He hadn’t been feeling well, but he had put off seeing the doctor because he said he didn’t have the time. Now he’s dead.”  
Is seventh grade as far as I’m going to make it?  
Is there a cure?   
Even if there is there’s no way I can afford it.  
I tear the sheets of my bed before carrying them to the hall. Before I can get them to the washing machine my mom spots me. She chews me out when she sees the stains. I can’t even form the words to explain what is happening and my crying only makes her angrier.  
“I can’t deal with this now,” she pushes me out of the way before heading out the front door.  
This could be our last interaction. I should have said something.   
Anything.  
Why are you never there for me?  
I’m never able to talk to her.

I put the sheets in the wash.   
If I die today I shouldn’t leave a mess for her to deal with.   
It’s the least I can do.  
My insides tear as I feel more blood leave my body.  
I should go to the hospital.   
Would it even help?  
If this is my last day I don’t want to spend it in the hospital. I’d rather spend it in nature.  
I change clothes before heading outside.  
My bike is in the garage. I wheel it to the sidewalk. Just getting that far makes my stomach hurt. I double over with pain. Biking to the woods is out of the question if I feel like this just from walking.  
In the back of my mind I hear my bike hit the pavement as I drop to my knees while my insides go to war. It feels like a part of me is being ripped away from another part.   
Is this what it felt like for my mother when she had me? Like a part of the life she’d always wanted was being torn away from her and something she’d never asked for was put in its place.   
If it is I can understand why she wouldn’t notice if I died outside our home. Why she wouldn’t care.   
I don’t want to embarrass her. For as long as I can remember it’s always been important to her that I be a good reflection of her. Even if when she looks at me she doesn’t see anything of herself.   
How would that be to look in the mirror and see an entirely different face? Is that how it is for her when she looks at me? Always seeing the wrong face. The wrong eyes. The wrong nose.   
I shouldn’t inconvenience her, even in my final moments. I try to drag myself away from the front lawn. I don’t know how far I’ll have to go to not be in her way, but I’ll try to get as far as I can.  
Bodies found in the woods that aren’t identified end up taken care of by the city. That’s the best course of action. That way she won’t have to waste any more money on me.   
I dig my nails into the cold dirt as I try to drag my body forward. Crawling horizontally on the ground reminds me of rock climbing. It wasn’t that long ago I was so full of energy. So full of life and hope. But now that’s all past and I’m completely alone.  
“What are you doing, Cross?”  
I lift my head. Through the tears and dizzying pain I make out a human form.  
“August?” my voice sounds like a whine as I gasp out the words, “I’m dying.”  
I can’t tell what face he is making, but in his voice I hear the ridicule, “Did you fall off your bike?”  
My mouth is watering with the pain and I feel like I’m going to throw up.  
I sense him kneeling down beside me as his hands move over my limbs checking for injuries. My head is pounding, but I’m just able to hear him as he gasps when he sees the fresh bloodstains.  
“What happened?”  
I swallow bile as I choke out the words, “I...I woke up…bleeding.” I hear myself crying again. Like I ever stopped. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  
He helps me sit up then uses his sleeve to wipe away my tears. With my vision cleared I see the worry in his eyes fade to understanding.  
“Nothing’s wrong with you, Cross. Not physically. You’re just…” his eyes shift to the side as if my mortality has made him uncomfortable, “you’re becoming a woman.”  
These are not the words I expected to hear. I don’t know what to say or how to process it. I stare at him till his eyes come back to me.   
He frowns like it’s my fault he has to say this, “Don’t you remember the sex talk we had in fifth grade?”  
I don’t recall any talk about death. Teachers won’t even answer you when you ask them what words like asphyxiation mean. Instead they give you a worried look and ask where you heard such a thing.   
“I don’t remember anything.”  
I’ve never been this close to death. I’ve known people that have died. But I always hear about it after the fact.   
From the way he’s acting being this close to it must make the living uncomfortable.   
“You’ve started your cycle, Cross. Your period.”  
Period?  
Wait.   
Now I remember.  
I didn’t hear it in fifth grade but I recall skimming over something online about this. It’s referred to as menstruation. It is only experienced by females when they reach puberty. It occurs once a month when a thing called a uterus expels its insides.  
My body still feels like it’s being drained of life, but my muscles relax as I realize I’m not dying.   
“I’m not dying?”  
He shakes his head, “Not today.”  
“This bleeding is normal.”  
His upper lip curls as his skin takes on a hint of green, “Supposedly.”  
He helps me stand. It still hurts, but at least I know now it’s not death pains.   
He makes me lean on him as he helps me back into the house. While I sit on the toilet’s lid he looks through my mom’s cabinets.  
“What are you looking for?”  
“Don’t make me say it, Cross.”  
Again he looks everywhere but at me.   
“If you would tell me I might be able to help you.”  
“I doubt it.” he side eyes me before letting out a long sigh, “I’m looking for…feminine…care products.”  
He looks annoyed as I respond to the string of words with confusion. He goes back to looking. Eventually he holds up a box titled “tampons.”  
He takes one out and holds it out to me. It looks like some kind of candy. I open it. It’s a plastic tube. It doesn’t look edible.  
“What do I do with this?”  
His ears go red, “As if I know!”  
I take the box from him. There are instructions. I cringe.  
“They want me to—.”  
He covers his ears, “Don’t say it!”  
“August,” I pull his hands back, “I can’t do this. Please, tell me what to do.”  
My eyes are stinging as the tears return. I had some peace when I thought I was dying. Now I’m just lost and afraid.  
His eyes drift to the ceiling as he lets out a slow resigned sigh. “Wait here.”  
I don’t know what he’s going to do but I remain where I am when he leaves.  
My insides still ache and I can feel more of my uterus leaving my body. What even is the point of the organ? Something that would make you lose blood, which is important to life, should be a bad thing.   
Twenty minutes pass before he comes back with something called a panty liner. He has several boxes of them.  
“Do I really need all this?”  
“I don’t know,” he’s snapping again but I understand it better now. He’s as confused as me. Probably more so, “I got all the versions they had. I don’t know which works best.”  
One box is marked super, another medium, one says night, another light. I don’t know what any of it means. It reminds me of when I first started learning to read. Back when letters looked like nothing more than random shapes on a page. Right now the words on the box look like nothing more than shapes to me.  
He leaves as I take a shower to get clean. Watching the blood wash away makes me sick again, but at least I’m not dying.  
I should feel relieved.   
I don’t.  
Is death really all that bad?  



	3. Chapter 3

August’s ears are still red when I come out. He looks ready to collapse when I try to thank him.  
“Please don’t.” His tone is miserable as his eyes avoid mine.  
“Do you remember what I can expect?”  
“I’m not a sex ed teacher,” his voice softens as he reminds me, “Just go online.”  
I don’t have a computer. When I head out he follows me. I expect him to leave but he stays with me.  
Does he sense that I don’t want to be alone right now?  
It’s strange to think that about August.   
When we were younger he was the school bully. I guess he still technically is, but he hasn’t acted like the King of Mean to me in a long time. Though the first time we met didn’t go that well, now, somehow, he has become the person I rely on the most. 

It still hurts to move but August doesn’t complain about my slow pace.   
“Exercise is good for cramps.”  
I look back, “What are cramps?”  
His whole face is red, “It’s the pain you feel in your…” he motions to his stomach as he looks off at a passing dog. I don’t tell him that the pain is not occurring in that area. I get what he means, “It’s something my mom said.”  
He says it casually but I’m sure mentioning her still hurts him. It still hurts me when I think about how I’ll never be able to meet my father. And I only learned about him a few years ago.   
Death is cruel.   
At the library we part. August retreats to another part of the library to do “some manly things.” I imagine he’ll be curling up into a ball to cry.   
It’s what I’d like to do.   
When I’m ready to leave he takes me out for ice cream.  
“How did you know I wanted something sweet?”  
He still won’t look directly at me.   
Does becoming a woman make you even more repulsive to people?   
If so, then I’ve always been a woman.  
“My mom always craved sweet and salty things.”  
At the ice cream parlor he picks out my order. It’s a strange combination of salted caramel ice cream covered with pretzels and peanut butter cups.   
“Just try it. You’ll like it. Trust me.”  
My taste buds explode with joy as I take my first bite. For the first time all day I feel rays of light break through the gloom.  
I smile but he’s not looking.   
I wish he was.


	4. Chapter 4

The whole time I’m on my period mom avoids me like she senses the change. Senses the emotions swirling just at the surface, ready to spill out at a moment’s notice.  
I’m usually more patient, better at keeping my frustrations to myself. But with the influx of hormones I feel my hold on my emotions slipping.  
Then they break out.  
“Look at me.”  
She won’t.   
She never does.  
“Look at me! Why won’t you look at me? You know I’m talking to you. Am I really invisible to you? Do I disgust you that much?”  
She won’t answer. She doesn’t even hear me.  
“What is it about me that makes you not want to look at me? What do you see when you look at me? Am I that repulsive to you?”  
She finally looks at me and her expression tells me what I’ve always known, “You look just like him.”  
“Why is that so terrible? Didn’t you love him? Shouldn’t it be good that there is some piece of him with you? I know I’ll never replace him but can’t I give you something new?  
“Why do you act like I’ve somehow tainted his memory?”  
She’s back to looking away from me again.   
“Why won’t you talk to me? Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it? You have to tell me.”  
More silence. And yet in it I hear her body language say “I don’t have to tell you anything.”  
“What did I do wrong?”

She fades away along with the imagined confrontation.  
I’m sitting on the couch staring off into space. The TV is on. Some show about a happy family. A fake representation of what a family is like.   
Mothers don’t love their children and fathers are always gone.   
Instead of imagining what I want to say to her I should just confront her. That’s what August says. He says I should yell and scream and let it all out.  
It’s what my mom would do.   
It’s what she does.  
When she’s not happy with her boyfriend’s she lets them know about it. She yells and throws things and makes a fuss till they leave or try to console her. It’s like she has this energy building up in her and the only way to let it out is to fling things around the room like a human tornado.   
When I was younger I did try to say something. But it was like I was a ghost. My words being like the screams of banshee. A wind that people could easily ignore.   
“Just wait and it will pass. Then we can go back to our lives.”  
“Don’t acknowledge the wind’s pain. It will fade away eventually.”  
But when I get mad it feels like a wind building up in  
One day I will fade from memory like the wind.   
How much longer do I have to wait?   



	5. Chapter 5

“You are so pathetic, Cross.”  
It’s words like these I used to hear all the time from August when we were bully and victim. Hearing them now I find them hurting worse than they did when he meant for them to hurt me.   
“Thanks, August.”  
“No, I mean,” he lets out a frustrated sigh, “You were acting like you were dying, but have you ever even lived?”  
“I’m not a reckless person.”  
“I mean, you’re always living for someone else. For your mom. For your friends. For your dad. Do you even have a life apart from them? Mom said when people have near death experiences they appreciate life more and start living in the moment. You should try that.”  
He says all that then leaves before I have a chance to process it all.   
He’s right.   
If I lived more in the moment I would have had some kind of comeback to give him. Like, “If you weren’t so reckless with your life you’d have less things to be sorry for.” But that’s mean. And lame. Even if I had time I don’t think I could come up with a good comeback. I’m not as quick witted as Eric.   
Eric always knew just what to say to quiet August. The things weren’t always nice, or true.   
I always try to be nice to August, even when we were adversaries. His dad says enough mean things to break him. If possible I’d like my words to heal his scars. 

At my locker I think over August’s words.   
Behind me a pair of sixth graders are talking. One is asking the other, “When is take your daughter to work day?”  
“We are in middle school now. We don’t do that here.”  
The shorter one’s shoulders drop in disappointment.   
I don’t understand the reaction.   
I always dreaded the date. It was just another reminder that I have no father to rely on.   
The closest figure I’ve had was Frank. He was the one who taught me to ride my bike. For a time I even imagined that he would become my replacement dad.   
Instead of always imagining what it would have been like to have my father around if he’d lived I would have Frank. He would teach me all the things a parent usually teaches their children. Like how to balance a check book. How to stand up to your bully. How to pick out the right dress for the dance. And he would have taken me to the father daughter dance. I wouldn’t care that he wasn’t actually my dad, or that he didn’t know how to dance. I’d put my hand on his shoulder and my feet on top of his and we’d dance.   
The other girls would be embarrassed “Ew Dad, why would I put my hand on your waist?” But I would be grateful to have someone there who cared enough to come to this “stupid thing.” Someone who cared enough about me to get all dressed up for something “so embarrassing.” And when the night was over I’d kiss him on the cheek and say “thanks for being my dad” and he’d smile and say “thank you for being my daughter.”  
We’d do everything together. He’d take me to the mountains to climb rocks. When my bicycle broke he’d teach me how to fix it. It might not turn out completely right but he wouldn’t get frustrated with me but would laugh as he rubbed some grease on my face.  
On my birthday he’d get me fishing gear so we could go out to the lake just to talk. Spending time with me on the weekends would be his favorite thing. All through the week we’d plan out what we would do together.   
Mom would be happy to have a permanent man around and would be nicer to me. She might not completely become the mom I wanted but I’d have Frank and that would be enough.  
But he didn’t stay long enough for any of that to happen. And I didn’t have anyone to take me to the father daughter dance. Instead I stayed home and did my best not to cry.   
It would have annoyed mom.  
Instead, one day I came home from school and my mom was crying on the couch. I knew what it meant. I had seen it many times before.  
Though they act like they care at one time they eventually stop caring and leave. Even those who promise to stay.  
Though I never learned for sure why he left I had my suspicions.  
He grew tired of me.   
Everyone does.


	6. Chapter 6

“Harper Cross.”  
It takes me a moment to realize I’m the one being addressed. It’s my name, but I’m used to another voice calling out to me.   
The one talking to me now is the most beautiful girl in school: Daphne Carter. I don’t know why she is talking to me.   
It must be a misunderstanding.   
She’s confused me for someone else. It’s happened before.   
Or she wants me to help her with her homework.   
Whatever it is she doesn’t want me. She’s the type of girl who plays the lead in teen movies. Tall, blonde, skinny. The kind of girl my character would be a side kick to.   
But this isn’t a movie and I am not looking to be anyone’s henchman.  
My heart is still mending from my last foray into friendship.   
Eric, Leslie, and Dijonnaise. I had thought we would be friends forever.  
Like with everything, I was wrong.  
I have never been on Daphne’s radar before, because I eschew her and her gaggle of friends. Unlike me and my old friends, Daphne and I have nothing in common. But maybe this is the kind of thing August was talking about. I’m turning down this interaction before it’s even begun. Ending the possibility of something new growing before it has had a chance to take root.   
I give her a pleasant smile, “Hey, what’s up?”   
"I’ve seen you at Glitter and Things.” Before I can confirm her suspicions she asks, “Are you new here?"  
The plant I let sprout wilts as my own shoulders drop, "No. We were in first grade together."  
Of course someone like her wouldn’t notice someone like me. I’m not offended. Dijonnaise would have been. She would have said something. But she’s not here to speak up. She decided years ago I wasn’t someone worth sticking up for.   
"Oh,” she acts surprised at my response. “I guess I've never noticed you before."  
So much for trying new things.   
Why am I letting August get into my head?   
He’s wrong. I’m always trying new things. I used to go rock climbing with my ex-friends all the time. Then when they dumped me I’d go with August. He’s the one that helped me learn how to do tricks on my bike. He’s had a hand in almost everything I’ve done, including my learning to play violin.   
Was all of it not important enough for him to remember?  
My heart stings. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He never asked to be my confidant. I forced myself on him after my friends abandoned me.   
Just like I’ve done with every other person in my life   
That’s why they all leave.


	7. Chapter 7

My mom’s current boyfriend, Fritz, is a manager at a clothing store downtown called Glitter and Things. I’m too young to work there, but he has promised to pay me for bringing him dinner on the nights he works late. He’s trying to lose weight. If I bring him nice, healthy, home cooked meals he’ll pay me a dollar for each pound he loses. I’ve only received three dollars so far, but he’s a big guy. I’m looking forward to a big flow of cash any moment.  
I’m hoping when he loses the weight I will have enough to buy a new violin. The one I have now has a broken neck I’ve had to fix with duct tape.   
I almost had enough money last summer, but then a new set of primary teeth came in wrong and the dentist had to remove them. My savings are at zero now. It’s really frustrating. At least the violin at the pawn shop is still there. It’s been a few years since I started saving for it. Now I just need to save up the money again and hope someone else doesn’t snag it.  
Sometimes when I cook his food I imagine I’m making the food for a family picnic. I would make the food and Fritz would carry the basket while walking with his arm over mom’s shoulder. I’d tell them about all the plants we saw along the way. When we sat down mom would laugh at all Fritz’s jokes, throwing her head back with how funny he was. I would smile, just happy to see them so happy.   
At night we’d watch the fireworks that just so happened to be going off. We’d ooh and aah and Fritz would make a joke about one of the shapes. It would be the best night ever. And though I’d never forget it, it would be one of many happy memories.  
Memories that will never actually be real.

Cooking the meals and practicing violin takes up a good amount of my after school time. When I’m not doing that I indulge my voracious appetite for books. Fiction, non-fiction, science, religion, the subject doesn’t matter. But my favorite subject presently is nature, followed by law. I still dream of following in my father’s footsteps as a lawyer and eventually judge.  
On my “dream board”, as August likes to call it, I still have posted the photo of my father holding a gavel. It’s actually a photo of an image I captured on tape. Most of the photos I have of him are stolen moments like that. Images of him rock-climbing, playing guitar, riding his bike on the local mountain. I go there on the weekends. Each time I’m out I imagine he might have ridden over the same trails. The thought invigorates me.   
I have a secret desire to one day find a trace of him. A name carved into a tree. A discarded wheel. A broken pair of glasses. Anything that will give me another piece of him.   
Sometimes when I ride the dream is like an overwhelming force that speeds me on like a crazed sailor in search of a monstrous whale. If I can’t be close to him physically I can be close to him in the things he once enjoyed.  
These various activities occupy my focus so much I don't even notice how often Daphne approaches me "just to talk." It isn't till winter break that something comes of these "talks," when she asks me to hang out at her house after school.  
"Me?"  
The question amuses her as she laughs like a tinkling bell, "Of course you."  
"I'm not the type of person you hang out with."  
Her group of friends are the fashionable sort. They are more concerned with what name brand the movie stars are wearing than with being able to name the constellations. Even just looking at us you can tell we come from different worlds. I’m the girl who wears torn up jeans and overly large punk-rock shirts. The only time she would wear rock shirts is when it is in vogue.  
"Who says you're not our type?" retorts Daphne.  
"Are you inviting me over so I can help you with a school assignment?"  
Even people I don't know have started to call me "Book" because I walk down the hall with my nose in the binding of my newest obsession. Homework help is the only logical reason she'd want me to come over to her house.  
"No, silly. It's just to hang."  
I don't know why I say yes.   
Desperation.  
I do miss my friends.  
The prospect of an adventure?  
I haven’t tried new things in ages.   
Perhaps that is what August was referring to.   
Whatever the reason I hope I don’t regret it.


	8. Chapter 8

Daphne's house is located in one of the nicer neighborhoods within the school district. Compared to my house it’s a mansion. She even has an in ground pool in the backyard.   
By the time I arrive a group of girls has already gathered. They are doing each other’s nails as they talk about things like boys and make-up. Even boys in make-up.  
To each their own.  
"Harper," Daphne motions for me to take a seat beside her, "Let me do your nails.”  
I haven’t had my nails done since I stopped hanging out with Leslie and Dijonnaise. We’d always listen to music while we took turns. Mostly we’d listen to the music they liked. I didn’t mind, but on occasion I wished they would let me play my tunes. Any time I would they’d talk over it. Which they did with all the music, but I figured if they just took the time to listen they’d see why I liked it. That chance is over now.  
“What color do you want?”  
Daphne holds up a container of various colored polish.  
Leslie would do her nails in bright colors like yellow, orange, and florescent green. Dijonnaise always did hers in shades of pink. Coral, fuscia, magenta.   
“Black.”  
She doesn’t object.   
Leslie would always try to talk me into another color. “You would look good with baby blue nails.”  
As Daphne paints my nails she sings along with the music. I recognize the song. It’s something Dijonnaise preferred.   
“You like Beyoncé?”  
She gives me a look like I’ve asked an offensive question, “Of course. She’s the Queen B.”  
“What kind of music do you like?” the question comes from a girl with ombré hair and crystal studded nails.   
Daphne’s room is covered in posters of various boy bands. Some are white, some are Asian. On her laptop, which is playing the music, she has a slideshow playing with photos of those various boys. I could say their names, if I knew them, but this wouldn’t be the truth.  
Do I want to lie in order to make friends with these girls?  
I never had to lie in the past to make friends.   
If I had I might have kept them.  
“I mostly listen to punk rock.”  
I wait for them to make disgusted looks but they just smile.  
“Which artists?”  
I say a few names but it’s obvious they don’t recognize any.  
Dijonnaise once told me that no matter how hard you try some people just don’t click.  
Daphne and her friends are trying to be nice, but I know when this day is over they’ll never talk to me again.   
For now she keeps trying as she asks, "Who's that cute guy in your locker?"  
There is only one photo of a person in my locker, "That's my dad."  
"He was adorable when he was younger. Is he still handsome?"  
"I don't know. He died when I was little."   
I don't actually know how old I was when he died, but I am sure it happened early in my life.  
The girls are sympathetic as they apologize for my loss. I assure them it’s okay and they proceed to ask questions.   
August is dead tired of hearing about my dad. Even if I just have their ears for one day it would be nice to talk about him with someone who hasn’t heard everything a thousand times. And as he is my favorite subject I spend most of the time talking about him.   
Eventually everyone chooses their own song to play and it is my turn to pick.  
“Are you sure? We don’t have the same taste in music.”  
“Just play your favorite song.”  
I do. I know I should play something more mainstream, but I feel like testing them.   
How much do they want to be my friend?   
Are they willing to accept every part of me, even my weirdest parts?  
They’d know Avril Lavigne, one of the artists my friends would always talk over. But instead of her I play something by Janelle Monáe.   
Leslie and Dijonnaise would never let me play her music.  
“It’s too weird.”  
Avril spoke to my loneliness while Janelle spoke to something deeper. Of not being entirely like everyone else. Of not being entirely human, but not entirely cyborg. Something outside of society. Something that they won’t accept for who they are or want to be.   
The first time I heard her songs I felt like I belonged. I never felt that way before. I felt understood, or like I could come to understand the world I’d always looked at from the outside in. I’ve never felt entirely part of one world or the other.   
Janelle’s music made me realize I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Not entirely human, but not entirely robot. And though not entirely human I still have valid feelings. Feelings that matter. A heart that beats, that bleeds just like everyone else’s. A heart that deserves to find love. Or whatever I deem my love.   
In truth, playing this now I’m bearing my heart to them in a way I never have to anyone else. Not even August.  
It’s a dangerous gamble.   
This could ultimately destroy me.   
I watch the girl’s faces as the song plays. With the other songs they’d listen while doing something else. But as the first chords of the song start they stop what they are doing and stare at the computer. My body tenses as I wait for them to react. Wait for them to look at me with disgust before telling me to leave.  
I’m not even ready for the reaction when Daphne turns with a smile on her face. “Hey, this is pretty good.”  
Not the reaction I expected. But maybe August was right, it’s time I step out of my comfort zone and try something new.  
As the hook starts I sing along to the cheers of the girls, “I thought every living thing had love, but are we really living, or just walking dead now.”  
Or dreaming of a hope riding the wings of angels


	9. Chapter 9

I’m still beaming the next day at school. I can’t believe they let me talk about my dad as long as they did. Even if we never talk again it was nice to be able to share my love of him with someone.  
Plus they let me be DJ for the rest of the night. And when I played some songs they knew they sang along.  
It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.   
“What’s with the grin, weirdo?”  
It’s both strange and normal to see August beside me. Strange because he ignores me when he hangs out with his rabble of friends. Normal because he tends to show up when I least expect him. When I most need him. Like the day when I thought I was dying.  
“Please don’t ruin my day, August. Not today.”  
I don’t understand how a person who can show you the most care can also be the one to send you into the deepest despair. But I should be used to it by now.   
It’s the same way with my mother.   
Just this morning she chewed me out for a full five minutes for eating her leftover pasta. I didn’t. And when she found out it was Fritz she left for work without saying any kind of apology.   
I should be used to it by now, but it still hurts.  
I need to be less sensitive.   
“I can’t make you do anything, bird-brain. You’re the one who decides if you’re going to let me get to you or not.”  
I hate it when he’s right. And he’s been right a lot more. He was the one that told me my friends weren’t my true friends.   
That one especially stings.  
I met Eric and Leslie my first day of school. We hit it off right away. It was actually because of August we met. He mistook me for a kindergartner and was picking on me when Eric stood up to him for my sake. It was a few years later we started hanging out with Dijonnaise and the others.   
I thought the more friends I had the happier I would be. But all I’m sure of is the more people you let in your life, the greater the wound will be when they leave you.

I close my locker and head towards class.   
August follows.   
“What’s up with the dorky grin?”  
“I’m just happy. Okay. Can’t a girl be happy?”  
“Not if it makes her look like a freak.”  
I once was able to ignore him better. But now he has the ability to ruin a perfect day.   
He’s sauntering down the hall after me, his hands in his pockets, as he flashes the occasional grin at various people. Most ignore him. A group of girls roll their eyes.  
He’s still wearing the grin when he looks back at me. I look away.  
“I didn’t see you at the park yesterday.”  
“I don’t always go to the park.”  
“On Wednesday’s you do. You’re a creature of habit.”  
He looks amused as if he knows me better than the back of his hand. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know me at all.  
“I am not. I am very spontaneous. In fact,” I feel my mouth curve into a grin as I boast, “I spontaneously went and hung out with Daphne yesterday.”  
He snorts, “Did not.”  
“Did too. You can ask her.”  
"I wouldn't talk to her even if it was to ask her to save me from drowning.”  
"Why? Because you're intimidated by her?"  
"As if. She's a jerk."  
"You don't like to hang out with your own kind?"  
He makes a sound as if he doesn't appreciate being compared to Daphne, "Why did she let you over? Did she know you were there?"  
"She invited me, August. And we had a very nice time together."  
"I didn't ask how good a time you had I just wanted to know why someone like her would want someone like you at her house."  
He doesn’t say the words in an especially aggressive way, but I feel my chest sting at the sound of them.   
"I don't know. She could have decided she'd like to have a brainy friend."  
He can't contain his laughter as it melds between a snort, a raspberry, and a guffaw, "Tchya, whatever."  
I feel my fists shake as I glare at him. An urge I felt once long ago comes to me now. At that time I knocked August to the ground with my fist. I can still picture the surprised look on his face. Since then I’ve decided against resorting to violence.  
My words instead are loaded with that aggression as I tell him, "You wouldn't know."  
I stop walking as I’m caught in the intense look in his eyes, “You’re right. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t ever want to know what it’s like to be desired by Daphne Clark.”  
I dodge a group of students ahead of us as I try to shake off the feeling coming from his gaze, “That’s good. You never will be.”  
Something grabs me, spinning me back. August has these two thick eyebrows, cater-brows, they are set like storm clouds above his eyes as he gazes at me, “Listen, gopher-teeth, if I wanted I could have any girl I wanted.”  
I fold my arms, “This isn’t an Axe commercial.”  
“I’m serious.”  
Before I can retort he steps closer. I feel my back hit the row of lockers behind me. His caterbrows look like they’ve been rolling on the rug as he stares down at me. I know August is tall but sometimes I forget how tall.  
“Sometimes I just want to grab you to shake out all your ridiculousness,” his voice grows softer as he adds, “And other times I just want to grab you and…”*  
He grows quiet as his cheeks go red with annoyance.  
Why is he getting so worked up about this? Daphne and I aren’t going to be friends. Even if we did I don’t understand why he finds the thought so repulsive.   
“Didn’t you tell me to seize the moment?”  
“I didn’t mean for you to take ahold of more fair-weather friends.”   
“Hey, Harper. How’s it going?”  
Daphne is staring at me as if she doesn’t see the giant in front of me. I decide to ignore him as well as I tell her, “It was going fine till I stepped in some gum,” I throw my gaze up at August to make sure he knows he’s the gum.   
He acts like he doesn’t notice. Instead he makes faces at Daphne.   
She ignores him as she replies, “That’s too bad. Speaking of shoes, did you want to go shopping?”  
She ignores him so well I almost believe for a moment that he isn’t there. I wish I could ignore him that easily.   
If I did would he become invisible?   
Or would he completely stop existing?  
Even on the days he especially annoys me I couldn’t bear for that to happen.   
“My mom is going to take all of us to the mall after school. Maybe we could stop by the store you work at.”  
I hate shopping. Even when I had friends it was something I put up with just for the excuse to be around them.   
August stares at me like he expects me to turn it down. As if he knows how much I hate shopping.   
But he doesn’t know me.   
“I’d love to go.”  
He makes a sound like a snort. I move away from him to walk beside Daphne as we head away from him.  
“Oh, by the way, you said your dad was dead, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“That’s weird. I saw a guy that looked just like him.”  
My heart freezes in place, too afraid to beat for fear of drowning out the sound of her words.  
“What?”  
“Yeah. He was older, but it would make sense if that photo is old. But you said he was dead so it couldn’t be him.”  
I know she’s right, but I’ve learned to hold onto less in order to stay afloat in my fantasies, “What channel was he on?”  
She shrugs, “I was at my Grandma’s. My brother was flipping channels. He stopped for a second on a channel to scratch himself, ew, right. Brothers are so gross. I just saw the doppelganger for a moment before he changed the channel. I don’t know the number.”  
My body shakes as my heart restarts. Daphne says something, probably a goodbye, but I don’t hear it over the sound of my heart screaming.   
It can’t be true.   
My dad is dead.   
But she only saw him for a moment and she doesn’t know his face as well as I do.   
It couldn’t be him.  
It can’t be him.  
It isn’t him.  
Why can’t it be him?  
I feel myself succumbing to a panic attack as I forget how to breathe.  
A hand touches my back as I feel its weight help me to the ground where I put my head between my knees.  
“Breathe. Just breathe.”  
The joy I first felt when I realized I had a father was short lived before I found out he was dead. Now everything I’ve dreamed about since that disappointment can be real. All the things I’ve imagined him teaching me. All the advice he would have given. All the moments we’d share.  
“Cross, are you in there? Calm down.”  
I could have those moments. But only if this is real.   
My head aches as it fills with all the possibilities at once.  
“Why are you crying? Cross, get a hold of yourself. You don’t even know if it’s him.”  
His words hit me like reality slapping me across the face. It takes me a moment, but I blink and it’s like I’m reset.   
“You’re right.” I rise slowly, still feeling the weight of all the possibilities holding me down, “It’s probably not him. If it was I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”  
August still has his hand on my shoulder. I feel him remove it as he slowly replies, “She saw him on TV.”  
TV.   
That’s right.   
If I want to know for sure I have to look there before I start to build this up too much and end up disappointed.   
“Cross.”  
I’m too busy plotting my course of action to look at August. Again he turns me around as my eyes fix on his chest but I’m looking through him to the moment right after school when I can rush home and flip through all the channels. My dad will probably be on a sports channel.   
Yeah.   
At this point he might just be an announcer but he could still be competing. He’d beat out the younger opponents and be setting new records.  
“Cross, don’t do this. You know it’s not him.”  
This time August’s words hit me like a gut punch. My eyes flash as I look up at him.  
“Don’t. Don’t act like you know me and don’t act like you know him.”  
August opens his mouth to say something but I start away before he can say it.   
This is my quest and nothing and no one is going to get in my way.  
“I’m going to find you, Dad.” 


	10. Chapter 10

When I was younger I thought fathers were just something some kids had and others didn’t. Like two car garages or a happy family. It wasn’t until August helped me realize I couldn’t exist without a father that I asked my mom about him. It just took seeing his photo to get me hooked. Seeing his smile awakened a longing in me I’d never realized was there. But it wasn’t long after that I learned he had died. Before I’d even had a chance to know him he’d left me.   
Everyone leaves one way or another.  
But the words Daphne said awaken a hope in me I haven’t let see the light of day. A hope that I’ve been wrong this whole time.   
It fills my mind so that I can’t concentrate on what the girls are talking about later when we hang out. I can tell they are trying to engage me but my mind is miles away.   
I shouldn’t be rude.  
“Do you know what the theme of the channel was?”  
Daphne is checking her outfit in a set of mirrors. She pauses for a moment in a pose, “What channel?”  
“The one that had the guy on it that looked like my dad.”  
“Oh, him. I think it was some religious channel. He was wearing a suit. I’m pretty sure he was saying something about Jesus before my brother changed it.”  
She goes back to checking herself. She doesn’t see the look of disbelief on my face. She doesn’t know it, but what she’s just said is impossible.   
It’s not the image of my dad in a suit that is throwing me off. Though that is strange. Every image I have of him he’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans. But my dad was part of the punk culture. In it you can be anything: drug-user, homosexual, Buddhist, but what you are never to become is a Christian. That is considered perfidious to the world of punk rock.   
I don’t need to channel surf tonight. I already have my answer: that man was not my father.   
That’s what I decide. But when I get home I find myself flipping through the channels.  
Nothing. 


	11. Chapter 11

Daphne and her group of friends all have matching bags. They are personally handmaid by Daphne like a symbol of her accepting each person into her group. That’s why I’m surprised when three days after our time out at the mall she presents me with my own personalized bag.  
“Now we match.”  
She smiles as she holds up her own bag.  
Leslie once made me a necklace made up of my dad’s old guitar picks. I still wear it, even though we don’t hang out anymore. I’m not sure if she made it because she liked me or because she thought she had to in order to be nice.   
I can’t blame her if she did. I only did things with them because I thought it would make them happy. But when it stopped being about me pleasing them and I started to have something of my own they left me.   
I don’t know if that will happen now with Daphne, but she’s taken my love of my father better than my friends did. That’s one thing she’s got on them.  
“Let’s all go out again today and see if we can’t find you something that matches your bag.”  
After school I join them at the store. I sit back as I watch them try on several outfits. As Rachel admires one outfit she checks the price tag.  
“Ouch, this is not worth thirty dollars.”  
“You could always use the five finger discount.”  
The girls all laugh at their friend’s joke as Rachel heads back into the changing room.  
“You are so bad,” retorts Daphne at her friend. Leaning back on the chair outside the changing room she looks at me as she asks, “Have you ever stolen anything?”  
“I once tried to steal a CD.”  
August was there that day. He looked a surprised as he realized what I was going to do. Before he could call me out I put the CD back and ran out of the store.   
I never went back there.   
Even if he hadn’t shown up I wasn’t going to take it. As soon as I took that first step towards the exit I recalled how it had felt when I’d had something stolen from me. I didn’t want anyone else to feel that way.   
“Harper,” Daphne pushes my shoulder, “You should try on something.”  
They talk me into trying some outfits on. Nothing is my style: ripped jeans and plaid. But eventually Daphne picks out something more my style: pleated skirt with plaid print and skull chains.  
Though the look is my fashion I’m not the type to wear skirts. When I come out the girls react like my legs have been missing out.  
“You look adorbs.”  
“It makes your legs look longer.”  
I don’t know about that.   
Pulling at the ends of the skirt I tell them, “I feel naked.”  
“Where’s the nudity?” The familiar voice is accompanied by August’s face as he peaks around a rack of clothes, “Whoa, Cross. Are you actually wearing a skirt? That’s not your usual style.” He eyes Daphne and her friends like they are holding a gun to my head.  
Behind him I spot his friends. They are swatting at clothes on racks with disinterest. When they notice August’s attention has moved elsewhere they notice us as well.  
As they move to join their leader, Daphne returns August’s look with a flip of her hair as she tells the others, “Let’s get out of here. This store has less fashion sense all of the sudden.”  
“That’s because you are in it,” retorts August after them.  
His friends react to the burn as Daphne and the others speed up their pace to get out of the store. August’s friends follow them as they make more rude comments.  
I can’t head out with them as I’m still wearing store merchandise. Before I can head into the changing room August steps between me and the room. His gaze drops to the skirt again as he slaps at one of the pleats.  
I step back.  
“That doesn’t suit you.”  
His words cut me like when you come away bleeding from an object you did not expect to be sharp.  
“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my wardrobe.”  
“I wasn’t commenting on it. I was referring to your choice in companions.”  
“That’s even less your business.”  
I try to push past him, but he pushes me back with the length of his arm.  
“Cross, you know you have a tendency of losing yourself in other people.”  
“Don’t act like you know me.”  
“You’re right, I don’t know you. But neither do you. When you’re not being the person your friends want you to be you’re just a facsimile of your father. Do you even know where he begins and you end?”  
I try. I try so hard not to yell at him. To not be mean. But sometimes he just makes me want to scream.  
Before I can he asks, “What does HBC stand for?”  
There are a thousand things it could stand for. I notice his eyes are on my arm. I spot the letters on the bag Daphne gave me that morning.  
“They are my initials.   
“Your middle name is Bertha?”  
“Of course not.”  
“Betty.”  
“Not even.”  
“Belicity.”  
I snort, holding back a laugh. “That’s not even a name.”  
He shrugs. “Then what is it?”  
“It’s Blaise.”  
He expels air through his teeth. “And you said Belicity wasn’t a word.”  
“It’s not. But Blaise is.”  
“Why would your mom give you a middle name that means boring? You are anything but boring.” He pauses as he rethinks his words, “Now that you are hanging out with Daphne and her crew…”  
The smile he’d produced fades to a frown, “It doesn’t mean boring. It’s spelled different. My middle name is in memory of Blaise Pascal, a famous mathematician.” I know he won’t listen, but I add, “And my friends are not making me boring.”  
He ignores my final remark, “If he’s so famous, why haven’t I heard of him?”  
What am I doing here?   
I have friends now.   
I don’t need to waste my time arguing with August Evans.  
I adjust the strap of my bag as I give him a haughty look I’ve learned from Daphne.   
I hear him make a snorting sound as I turn to walk away  
“You’re so droll and predictable now, Cross!”  
I walk faster, stopping just before reaching the alarms at the front of the store. August looks amused as I stomp past him as I come back to the changing rooms.  
“You always come back in the end.”  
I stop short as I come alongside him. Fixing him with the meanest expression I can muster I snap, “Don’t act like we’re friends.”  
I catch a look of shock in his eyes before I open the door and head inside. When I come out he’s gone.   
I don’t know why I expected him to stay. 


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey, Dad, it’s me, your daughter.”  
…  
“I know, it’s been awhile. What do you think about Daphne?”  
…  
I laugh, “Ya. I feel it’s important to at least consider what August has said.”  
…  
“I think I’m not the best judge of character. That’s why I’m asking you.”  
…   
“But I don’t know her. And August is adamant that she is fake.”  
…  
“They seem nice to me. And August would probably suspect a puppy of being nefarious.”  
…  
“Yes, not everything is as it seems. But when I’m with them I feel like they care.”  
…  
“Of course feelings can be wrong. And they can change.” I look off to the side, “I’d rather that have been the case with Leslie and the others. It would hurt more if they had never cared.”  
…  
“You can’t be sure. Mom doesn’t even like me and…You can’t be sure. How could you be? You’re not even real.”  
…  
I should stop talking to myself. 


	13. Chapter 13

Daphne is into musicals.   
When her birthday comes she invites all of us to the theatre in the next city over to view a show.  
“It’s going to be so fun.”  
I smile with excitement until I find out the price for a ticket. There’s no way I can afford them and still get her a present; something I know she will expect regardless of whether or not I come to the party.  
I still have my eye on that violin and my mom’s boyfriend has not been losing any new weight. I suspect he’s been sneaking food so he doesn’t have to pay me.   
“I can’t go to the theatre. But here.” I hand Daphne her gift when I give her the news.   
I really wish I could go, but I know I can’t.   
She looks disappointed, but thanks me for the gift. It’s not much just a shirt I thought she’d like.  
The rest of the week leading up to the birthday her and the girls talk about all the things they will do while visiting the city in addition to attending the play. I join in when I can, but each time I fill a distance between us.   
It feels almost like it did before I lost Leslie and the others. Back when I first became obsessed with my father and things I associated with him. Things like music and nature.   
I think nature was the thing that finally lost my friends. The more I learned about it the less I could believe it was an accident. My friend Eric didn’t agree and the more time I spent with him the more things he had to argue with me about. Eric was the type who wanted his friends to completely agree with him.   
Though I’ve already experienced the loss of friends I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to brace myself for the fall out this time.   
On the day of the event I’m online at the library. Logging onto my social media account I see one of Daphne’s friend has posted pictures of the girls out on the town. The happiness on their faces only makes me more miserable. I should be there with them.   
“What’s with the heavy sigh?”  
I don’t know why I’m still surprised when he shows up out of nowhere.   
August leans over my shoulder to look at the pictures. “Where’s that?”  
“Cheyenne.”  
“That’s today’s date. Why aren’t you there with them?”  
I push his face back as I close the window, “I couldn’t afford to go.”  
“I guess you aren’t Daphne’s friend.”  
I spin my chair around to glare at him. “We are too.”  
“If she were your friend she would have taken into consideration the fact that you couldn’t afford to go.”  
“Then she’d miss out on doing something she liked with her other friends.”  
“If she cared about you, she would have found a way for you to go. Like, maybe, forgoing one of her many presents in order to use that cash to pay for your ticket.”  
“It’s not that simple.” I spin my chair around so my back is to him.  
He grabs the back of the chair pulling it back so that I fall back against it before he spins it around. I almost fall into his chest, but stop just before hitting it.   
“It would be with me. If we were friends.”   
His last words come off cold. As if my words from weeks ago are still ringing in his ears.  
But why would he care?   
“As if. You’re as poor as me.”  
He snorts. “Not even. My mom set up a bank account in my name.”  
“I’m sure she put that away so you could pay for college. Not buy your friends concert tickets.”  
“As if I’d spend it on anything as puerile as that.”  
I cross my arms. “Then what do you spend your money on?”  
“Things worth having. Things that will last forever.”  
He sounds like he believes that’s possible. Like everything doesn’t eventually end.   
Even the good things.   
I can’t bring myself to break his world. Instead I find myself reaching out for his optimism.  
“Like what?”  
“Like relationships between two people who really care about each other.”   
I’ve had the misfortune of learning human relationships are the most mercurial things. He should know that even better than me.   
“Not like what you have with Daphne.”  
I start to object, but I know him well enough to know I’ll never convince him. Once his mind is set on something he doesn’t let it go. Like when he said Leslie and the others were not my true friends. He may have been right then, but he’s completely wrong this time.  
When I head away he doesn’t follow, but I hear him call after me. I don’t stop, but I slow down as he says the words, “I’m sorry. You should have been able to go. Even if they are fake friends.”  
Why do things never work out the way I want?


	14. Chapter 14

Just before spring break Daphne approaches me.  
"You going to deliver Fritz's dinner today?"  
"Yeah."  
"Do you mind if we come in and say hi?"  
"No, that would be cool."  
My mom's boyfriend, Fritz, has lost thirty pounds since I started cooking for him. It is far from the amount I need for my violin, but every now and then he'll let me do various things around the store. It isn't legal, but as I need the money I don't give it a second thought.   
After school I hear the bell chime as my group of friends enter. They chat with me as I show them the various items.  
“I should buy a crate of this shade. I’m afraid they’re going to stop making it.”  
Fritz tells me to watch the front as he heads into the back to check on the stock. As soon as he is gone Daphne and her friends grab the closest thing to them and shove it into their bags. The same large bags Daphne has made for each of her friends.  
It takes me a fraction of a second for my mind to understand what is happening, "Wait. You can’t do that."  
"Chill, Harp, we'll grab you something. What do you want?"  
Her friends are like locust as they move through the store grabbing whatever catches their eye.  
"Daphne, you can't—."  
"Don't worry. We won't take so much he notices. Just go back there and make sure he doesn't come out till we're done."  
"I can't. This is stealing."  
Daphne gives me a look like she thinks I’m being ridiculous.   
"They are the thieves. Have you seen the prices on this stuff? Fifteen dollars for a jar of nail polish. Come on, Harper, aren't you punk rockers all about sticking it to the man?"  
I shake my head, "That's rockers. Punks are about sticking it to the man in order to bring change. Rockers are about destruction."  
"I don't hear a difference."  
"They are more about speaking out than acting out."   
This doesn't stop Daphne and her friends as they load their bags with more contraband.  
"I can't let you do this, Daphne. Please put everything back. I won't tell Fritz. Just hurry before he gets back."  
"Don't be a wet blanket, Harper. We're your friends."  
"If you were my friends you wouldn't be stealing and asking me to cover for you."  
I feel my words swing back and hit me as I realize, yet again, August was right.  
Why is he always right?  
"Obviously you have no idea what friends are for."  
"I know they're not for getting you in trouble. Especially not with the police."  
Daphne isn't looking that pretty any more as she frowns at me, "Listen, you little punk rock wannabe, we are the only ones who took the time to make friends with you. You really think people want to hang around someone who is obsessed with their dead daddy? You are a freak. But we put up with that. If you want to show your appreciation you better get out of our way."  
She reaches out for a nearby shirt. Before she can take hold of it another hand grabs it. We are both surprised to see August as he holds out the shirt in Daphne's direction.   
"Nah, this isn't your color."  
Snatching the shirt from him, she shoves it in her bag. "What are you doing here?"  
Looking around at her mob of shop lifters, he looks back at me. I expect to see “I told you so” in his eyes. Instead I see pity.   
Pity is worse.   
"This is why they were so interested in you. You're supposed to be their patsy."  
"No one is going to get caught," replies Daphne, "As long as someone does their job and doesn't blab."  
Turning his attention from the irate preteen, August looks at me. "Well, Cross, what're you going to do?"  
I don't like what his tone is insinuating. "I'm not part of this."  
"You are if you don't do anything. What are you going to do? What would your dad do?"  
Daphne lets out a tired groan, "Don't tell me you're obsessed with him, too."  
"The old man has some sick moves."  
Turning her attention to me again Daphne orders, "Go keep the manager busy. We're almost done."  
I head to the back.   
A second later, I come back with Fritz. He is surprised to see his store overrun with preteen girls who are each stuffing their bags full of his inventory. On seeing the man, they all turn and scurry out of the store like rats from a sinking ship.  
Rats I actually thought were my friends.  
Fool me once…I never learn my lesson.   
Why can’t I find people who I don’t have to let misuse me in order to keep them around?  
I’m tired of being unwanted.   
"You will regret this!" cries Daphne as she heads out last.  
"I'm calling the cops," calls back Fritz as he hurries to the phone.   
As he dials I grab a pen and paper. I use it to write out a list. I hand it to him.  
"What is this?"  
"The names of all the girls that were in here." Lastly I hand him the money he gave me for his diet, "What do you want me to tell my mom?"  
He looks confused then realizes what I mean, "You don't need to tell her anything." He hands me back the money, "You saved my butt. I think you deserve a raise."  
After I've made sure he has everything he needs for the cops I leave the store.   
Outside August is waiting by the fountain across from the store.  
"Your dad would be proud."  
"Like you'd know."  
"I'm sure of it. It's the kind of thing he teaches."  
I look at him as if I think he was dropped on his head as a child. Maybe he was. That would explain why he’s so hard to read.  
"What are you going on about?"  
His grin annoys me; till he says the words I didn’t realize I’ve been waiting to hear, "I saw him. Cross. Your dad is alive. And he is a preacher."  
My heart more than skips a beat. It completely stops. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this work I have self published books that you might check out. They are available on Amazon and my personal site elliotdylan.com


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